Fear
by ja54591
Summary: Governor Pryce demonstrates to Ezra the limits of his powers, and the true definition of fear. Kanan and the Ghost crew mount a desperate rescue attempt, but discover that their actions will have greater consequences.
1. Fear

**Inspired by meldy-arts's _Are You Afraid._**

The cold rush of air entering the cell broke Ezra from the hold of his unconsciousness. The gust brushed against exposed, broken skin and incited the frayed edges of the torn flightsuit to dance momentarily, the first sign of life Ezra had noticed in what seemed like ages. Slowly, the haze that clouded each of his senses receded. A burn in the edges of his lips reminded him of the gag that had been forced into his mouth, wearing at the delicate skin at the slightest movement. He had no intention of speaking; the days of screaming had worn his throat hoarse and bloody.

 _Blood_. It seemed to be the only thing he could sense anymore. The taste of it, stale and metallic trapped in the cloth around his mouth. The frigid feeling of the tendrils that ran down his face from the lacerations on his brow continued to cool under the exposure of the air. Mustering the strength to open his one good eye, he could just begin to make out the dark red lines that emanated at the heavy metal binders that encased his forearms and trickled down his fingertips to a small pool on the floor.

Everything was blood and pain. His body seemed to resent every thought, every movement. Ezra marshalled what little strength he had to lift his head. At the door of the cell, the lights of the corridor cast the figure that occupied the doorway as an undecipherable silhouette. Blinding white light erupted from above his head, his flinch eliciting another wave of pain. He could hear soft footfalls approaching him, and the sinister _hiss-clank_ of the door sliding to a close. The footsteps stopped, perhaps a meter away from the short metal stool he sat upon.

"I must commend you," a cool, feminine voice began. "Your stamina, to this point, has lived up to your reputation. It seems the legends of the Jedi's mystical strength were grounded in a shred of reality."

Ezra opened his eye again, attempting to focus beyond the harsh light above him. The gray pleats of uniform trousers were visible, but the combination of the spotlight and the intense pain of trying to raise his head left the face unrecognizable beyond the jaw-length hair that framed it. The voice continued.

"It seems odd that in a galaxy as vast and as populated as ours, how some names seem to continue to re-emerge. Even Lothal, a relatively backwater planet in my own opinion, has several billion inhabitants, names, _families_ …" The voice lingered on the word, as if waiting for it to land on Ezra's eardrums. "And yet yours remains at the forefront of Imperial attention, _Ezra Bridger._ "

The figure descended to a crouch, revealing the unmistakable face of Lothal's provincial overlord, Governor Pryce.

Ezra narrowed his eye, staring directly into the woman's cold gaze. Defiance seemed to well up in him, as if the politician's power meant nothing in his mind. She continued to hold his gaze, then her eyes flicked first to the gashes in his forehead, then to the torn fabric of the flightsuit.

"I'm not here to ask questions. I already know everything I need." Pryce's tone remained steely, but deep undertones of self-confidence and gloating. "I'm sure you would enjoy attempting to frustrate me with your unwillingness to talk, but there simply isn't a need at this point." She stood and turned her back to him, dimming the spotlight so that he could see her clearly. Turning to face him, she brought her hands behind the small of her back.

"Agent Kallus was a fool to think he could hide his beliefs from me forever," Pryce's words eliciting a new pang of guilt and fear in Ezra's core. "We have dealt with him accordingly. Thankfully for him, he has a long record of distinguished service to the Empire. His mind simply requires _rehabilitation._ " Ezra tried to remain stoic, stifling the cringe that ran through his body from the way Pryce had said the word. "You, on the other hand, I'm afraid you cannot be helped. The seed of rebellion runs through your blood."

Pryce drew closer, returning to the crouch that brought her just above Ezra's eye level. "You certainly are Ephraim and Mira's child, without a doubt," Pryce stated, peering directly into Ezra's eye. His body tensed, the sound of the Imperial even saying his parent's names making his blood run cold. "Such a shame, those two. Always a voice for the poor, the downtrodden. In another life, perhaps they could have helped us build the system that will raise the oppressed from their conditions." Ezra's nostrils flared, rejecting any notion that his beloved parents would have colluded in any way with the Empire.

"I took no pride signing the order for their arrest. I genuinely thought they would be able to understand what we are trying to do, with the right amount of persuasion." She ran a hand through his hair, inciting his hatred further. "The thought of you living alone, on the streets, was enough to keep them in line. Sadly, your untimely message undid all the work I had spent trying to help them," The hand tightened into a fist, gripping his hair and forcing his head back. "They died before I could help them see the truth."

Pryce ran a finger along Ezra's cheek, wiping away one of the trails of blood. Her cold stare broke into a sinister grin as she watched the anger flashing in his eyes. "Tell me, Ezra," she demanded, the mocking tone rising in her voice. "Are you _afraid_? You certainly don't fear for your own life, you have demonstrated that well enough." The fingers slipped from his cheek and gathered around his chin, keeping him transfixed to her condescending smile. "No… you fear for them. Your _family._ The parents you did nothing to free. And now, this _band_ you call a rebellion, who even in all your power, you cannot save."

Ezra's hatred could be contained no further. He reached out to the Force, drawing all the power he could muster to drive his bound fists into her jaw. As soon as he flinched, pain like a raging fire engulfed him. The cracking of electricity popped and hissed as he convulsed off of the stool, landing hard on the metal floor beneath him. When the torment finally passed, Ezra could feel fresh blood beginning to seep down his face.

"Brave, but foolish," Pryce remarked. "Almost poetic that you must suffer for the lessons that I learned from your Mandalorian companion." Ezra tried to rise, but a booted heel slammed into his side, sending fresh agony through his body. Pryce walked behind him, grabbing the back of his collar and bringing him to a prostrate position on the metal floor. Releasing him, the weight of the binders drug his hands to his knees, cowing his head. "All this effort to stand, yet all you ever needed to do was kneel."

A cold metal ring pressed against the back of his skull. The metallic _click_ of a safety being released made Ezra's stomach sink. "The war has ended for you, _Ezra Bridger_ ," Pryce's voice sounded behind him. The image from the holodisk of his family, then Kanan, then Hera, then Zeb, then Sabine flashed in Ezra's mind. He waited.

Nothing.

"But you have use to me yet."

The pressure of the barrel pulled away from his head. A dark chill surrounded his entire body. Unable to control himself, Ezra began to shake, tears streaming from his eyes. Footfalls moved away from him, the door opening once more. "Good. Call to your _master._ Hopefully, they shall be along shortly to join you."

The door slid shut, entombing Ezra in darkness once more.

 **Author's note: There have been a lot of capture/torture stories written already in the _Star Wars Rebels_ universe, and most of them are really good. I wanted to try to focus more on the psychological side, which often leaves the greatest scars on people. In addition to Medly-Arts's fantastic work, I took a lot of inspiration from hadesgirl015 and their absolutely fantastic short, "Broken." As always, comments and concerns are more than welcome. Thank you for reading!**

 **All the best,**

 **JA**


	2. Costs

Kanan had prepared himself for the screaming. Even before the first reports of Ezra's capture reached Atollon, Kanan sensed the fear surrounding his padawan like a heavy blanket cast over his essence. Abject agony had permeated their bond, Ezra's pain a constant reminder of Kanan's impotence as he searched for where they had taken him. Kanan had quickly steeled his resolve, using the pain to drive himself to search harder.

It was the silence that he hadn't been ready for.

Like match snuffed out, the bond had suddenly went quiet. The shift in the Force had been so swift that it physically destabilized him; had it not been for Hera's quick reaction, he would have completely collapsed. Initially, Kanan thought that Ezra had perished, but on further inspection found him still there, but muted. In Kanan's mind, deafening silence now filled the void left by Ezra's torment.

Kanan forced his mind into the present. The silence in his connection with Ezra mirrored the quiet aboard the darkened shuttle. Reaching out to each of their signatures, Kanan could infer the grim look on each of their faces. While he had listened in real time to Ezra's treatment, the rest of them had been forced to grip with the taunting recording of his torture that the Empire had left on an empty server for them to find.

Anger burned in all of them, tinting their signatures crimson. Kanan had thought to warn them to guard themselves against allowing their emotions to dominate them. The mission was almost certainly a trap, the video goading them into a rash and desperate attack. Normally, he would have tried to reign in Zeb and Sabine's fiery attitudes, drawing strength from Hera's collected demeanor to help balance his own rash inclinations. This time, lust for vengeance consumed all of them - the same dark, furious anger that burned within Kanan now. As he stood, Kanan drew the long, tapered barrel of the DL-18 from its holster. He had left his lightsaber on Atollon, refusing to sully its blade with his actions tonight.

 _Forgive me, Master Billaba_ Kanan thought as the boarding ramp began to lower.

* * *

A Stormtrooper collapsed to the muddy ground, the shattered plastoid of his chest plate still glowing amber from the power of the mortal blast. Water splashed up from each stride Sabine took as rain danced in front of her visor. Reaching the blast door, she stuck three bricks against the cold metal. She laced a small ribbon through the pegs that protruded from each brick, and pressed her body against the adjacent wall.

"Charge set," she announced, looking to the other side of the door. A flash of lightning highlighted two dark visors staring back at her, both adorned with blue accents. Rex raised his blasters towards the door, as Fenn Rau grasped his shoulder guard, carbine tucked into his shoulder. A third hulking form gathered behind them, another lightning flash revealing the stony look in Zeb's green eyes. "Breacher up," Sabine declared.

"Send it."

The door rent apart as if it was made of paper. The three figures across from Sabine flowed into the opening. Immediately, the pitchy staccato of the carbine echoed through the corridor beyond, punctuated by the low baritone of bo-rifle and the alto of twin pistols. Kanan strode in behind them, stepping over the victims of the deadly chorus.

"Start down this block, Hera and I have the command room," Kanan ordered. The others complied silently, moving down a darkened corridor to the right. Kanan continued down the main hall, aware of Hera's light footfalls directly to by his side. Ahead, he could tell the hallway was ending from the way his own footsteps' echo began to shorten. The pair reached the heavy blast doors of the command center, but before either of them had time to activate the controls the doors began to part.

Immediately, he could sense three signatures in the room before him. The one on the far right of the room, obviously startled by his presence, began to rise. Not bothering to wonder if the person was armed, Kanan raised his blaster and fired twice, snuffing the signature out. The signature on the left blinked out simultaneously as Hera's blaster sounded in Kanan's ears. Pistol still raised, Kanan advanced on the third figure. A sense of cold calm seemed to radiate from them. An equally cold, feminine voice spoke.

"Finally," Governor Pryce called out. "How predicta…"

The _thud_ of the handgrip of Kanan's blaster colliding with her temple finished her observation. The blow sent the Imperial spinning backwards, collapsing in a heap on the ground. Kanan kept the blaster leveled at her collapsed figure.

"Your game is up. Where is Ezra?" Hera demanded, her _lekku_ s' twitching betraying her unbridled rage. Pryce coughed, then rotated to face the two, a cool grin pulling at the corner of her lips.

"You surprise me. Ezra showed such talent in being able to manage his emotions. Though, not everything learned is necessarily taught, is it?" Pryce slowly rose to one knee, the gash in her forehead beginning to send trails of blood down the side of her face. "I'm sure spending your childhood being used as someone's _soldier_ makes emotions more of a liability than an asset." The accusation made Kanan's blood boil further. He planted his heel into Pryce's side, sending her sprawling once more. As she tried again to rise, he grabbed the back of the collar of her tunic, forcing Pryce to face away from them. As Kanan pressed the barrel of the blaster into Pryce's skull, he could feel a sadistic satisfaction welling up within her.

" _Where is he?_ " Kanan bellowed, pressing the gun harder against Pryce's head.

"What does it matter? We both know that he is broken. You are far too late to do anything to fix that." The grin on Pryce's face grew to a sinister smile, her mocking words echoing through the room. Hera could stand the display no longer, raising her blaster as well.

"Answer him!"

"So you can continue to use him to fight your little war? Perhaps to convince yourself that what you are doing is right? What little innocence that is left in him cannot possibly absolve your sins."

Fury was now blinding Kanan. Ezra's signature seemed to grow even more distant, as Pryce's mocking presence engulfed Kanan's senses. He tightened his hold around the grip, bringing his finger taut to the trigger.

" _Stop!_ "

Kanan froze. Zeb and Sabine were at the door, the anger in their signatures now colored with shock and confusion. They flanked a third, which seemed intensely familiar. The new presence caught the attention of Hera, who lowered her blaster in shock.

"Kill her, and you make her a martyr," Kallus said, staring directly at Kanan. Hera, stunned by the man's words, looked to the corner of the room. A small camera peered down into the room, its red indicator light glowing ominously as it recorded the exchange below. "You discredit everything you fight for if you pull that trigger. She dies the hero, and your rebellion is remembered as the villain." Kanan lowered the blaster, turning to face Kallus completely.

"Why should I listen to you?" Kanan demanded.

"Because you know I'm right," Kallus stated bluntly. "And I know where Ezra is."

An explosion rocked the facility. The grin on Pryce's face grew. Kallus took another step forward.

"You haven't got much time." Kanan hesitated, then set his jaw.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Sprinting through the corridors, Kanan realized that he was marveling at Kallus's sense of direction. Even with Kanan's advantage of not need light to navigate, Kallus remained a stride ahead of him, navigating the halls with only the assistance of the crimson strobe of the emergency lighting. Kanan could tell from his signature that the agent was battered and tired, more so than he had sensed previously. Suddenly, it dawned on Kanan that Kallus was moving not on instinct, but memory.

He was being _held_ here.

Kallus came to an abrupt stop, turning towards an unmarked metal door. Sabine and Rau soon arrived behind Kanan, and seeing Kallus's direction, moved to force open the door. Kallus stopped them, producing a code cylinder that coaxed the door open with a quiet _hiss_.

A dark form lay in the center of room, unresponsive to the arrival of the visitors. As the emergency lights pulsed, the red lighting revealed Ezra's swollen, unconscious face. Sabine stepped into the room, noting the floors felt abnormally slick as if covered in liquid. Putting the sensation out of her mind, she knelt beside Ezra's broken body, pushing two fingers into his neck.

"Pulse is weak, but stable," she stated in a shaky voice. Another pulse of red light poured into the room, displaying the dismal state of Ezra's attire. What once had been a flightsuit was now little more than rags covering his body, caked in a mixture of blood and sweat. Looking at Kanan's expression, Sabine decided to spare him the description of the myriad of contusions and what appeared to be chemical burns that marred Ezra's frame.

"His binders are designed to detect tampering and are proximity-linked to the cell. Trying to move him with them on will kill him," Kallus stated, a detectable note of empathy in his voice. "I don't have the key." Kanan's frustration flared again, and he focused his attention to Sabine.

"Can you disarm them?" he asked, urgency painting his voice. Sabine gently picked up Ezra's wrists, examining the blood-stained metal. The sinister device, secured just above the bone of Ezra's wrists, had no openings or obvious keyholes.

"I… I don't know…" Sabine choked out.

The sound of blaster fire turned the group's attention down the hall. Kanan's comlink sparked to life.

"We've got Imp reinforcements storming the entrance!" Zeb's voice called out. "They've overrun the command center and taken back Pryce. We're trying to hold them, but you gotta hurry!"

"There's another landing pad near here, but we are running out of time," Kallus implored. Kanan realized that in his anger, he had forsaken the one tool that would save Ezra: his lightsaber.

Fenn Rau pushed past Kanan, his hands a flurry of motion. "Tourniquets, on his forearms," he said flatly, fixing a band to Ezra's arm and twisting the tension bar. Sabine complied, applying another band to the opposite arm. Rau extended a hand towards Sabine.

"Detcord." Sabine hesitated, then produced a line of the explosive and handed it to the older Mandalorian. Wrapping the cord just underneath the binders, he pulled Ezra's arms so they were extend as far away from his body as his arms would reach. Rau took the control from Sabine, looking directly at her. "Look away." Kanan realized what was happening, too late to object.

A wet _thud_. A clatter of metal. A spray that added crimson to Sabine's paint-spattered boots. A pregnant silence filled the room. Then, as the renewed blaster fire began to draw closer, Kallus broke the pause.

"It's time to go."

* * *

Rocketing into the upper atmosphere, the _Phantom II_ shook violently as Hera dodged the torrent of fire directed at them. Ignoring the danger, Hera pointed the shuttle towards open space and pulled the hyperdrive throttle. Space and time warped around them as they made their escape.

In the safety of hyperspace, Kanan breathed out a sigh of relief. He turned to Hera, who gave him a relieved smile. Kanan felt her fingers interlocking with his, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. The two turned to face the rest of the crew. Immediately behind them, Kallus and Zeb sat opposite each other. Zeb nodded to the former agent, eyes full of sincerity. Kallus returned the nod. Beyond them sat Rex and Rau. Rex continued to manage the two IV bags suspended from the ceiling, one clear and one deep crimson.

Rau was turned away from the rest of the crew, speaking in a low voice. Kanan realized that the words were distinctly _Mando'a_ , completely unintelligible for him. Sitting next to Rau, Sabine was completely unresponsive to the older Mandalorian speaking to her, instead focused completely on the stretcher that filled the center of the craft. Even without sight, Kanan knew that her eyes were transfixed on Ezra's arms, now hidden from sight under the blanket that covered the litter. Despite their best efforts, red stains were beginning to show through the cloth where Ezra's hands should have been.

Kanan reached out in the Force, surrounding Ezra with his own presence. When he had lifted the boy from the floor of the cell, the faded signature had flickered slightly brighter. Now, surrounded by family and receiving basic sustenance, the familiar bond was beginning to return. Despite this, a nagging sense of dread tugged at Kanan's thoughts. He felt something in not only Ezra's signature, but the signature of each of the six other people on the craft. Something off. Something dark. Something _wrong_. Their mission was complete; once again they had snatched victory from the grasp of the Empire.

A victory that had come at a cost.

 **Author's note: I was positively overwhelmed by all of the support "Fear" received, thank you so much for such a strong outpouring of support. While I thought that it would be a one-off piece, the phenomenal pictures that medly-arts followed up _Are You_ _Afraid?_ with really inspired me to continue this story line. All three images can be found on her Tumblr page, and I highly reccomend viewing them. As always, thank you for your time, feel free to send me your commentary, critique, and suggestions!**

 **All the best,**

 **JA**


	3. Scars

What seemed like an endless torrent of hot water gushed from the showerhead of the _Ghost_ 's lavatory, generating dense clouds of vapor that billowed throughout the small room. Ezra pointed his face into the stream, letting the streams push his cropped hair back and run in long lines down his back. After spending what seemed like a lifetime suspended in the lukewarm confines of a bacta tank, he had thought that he never wanted to feel liquids on his skin again. However, the tender skin of healing wounds allowed only careful sponge baths in the weeks after he emerged from the tank, leaving him feeling perpetually unclean. Now, the shower was a comfort; a way to begin to feel clean again, the heat melting away grime and the stress the remained ever-present in his jawline.

Turning the water off, Ezra stepped out from the shower, wiping away excess moisture with a towel that he then wrapped around his waist. He reached out his right hand to wipe away the condensation that obscured his reflection in the mirror, taking note of the contrast between the humid warmth of the room and the cool, slick feel of the glass. It took thirty hours in surgery and a minor miracle, but the medical staff of the _Liberator_ had managed to reattach the severed limb. Ezra was already beginning to regain fine motor skills and sensation. In time, the only sign of the event would be the thick scar that ringed his wrist like a bracelet. The same could not be said of his left hand. In the haste of the desperate maneuver, the loop of detcord had widened, separating the bone and tissue in two places and disintegrating everything in the middle. As he leaned against the sink to stare into the mirror, a disheartening _tink_ filled Ezra's ears as the crude metallic prosthetic made contact with the basin.

Staring into the reflection, Ezra's gaze scanned across the paths of fresh skin that ran in every conceivable direction and distance. He silently thanked whichever ancient scientist discovered the healing powers of bacta. Cleansed of impurity and infection, some of the smaller lacerations would vanish completely in time. The larger ones had been initially stapled closed, but now appeared significantly subdued, flanked by tiny discolorations where the staples pierced his flesh. He applied a layer of shaving cream to his face, happy to be able to shave again without the watchful eye of Kanan or Zeb looming. A long stroke cleared dark whiskers and cream from the underside of his neck, revealing a healed wound that hadn't been inflicted by the Imperials.

The incident placed him under twenty-four hour supervision in the weeks following his exit from the bacta tank. The _Liberator_ didn't have a dedicated psychiatric ward, or a true psychiatrist for that matter. Like the rest of the rebellion, the medical staff on Atollon made due with what they had: an orthopedic surgeon, a gynecologist-obstetrician who hadn't yet completed residency, and a complement of 2-1B surgical droids. Those weeks remained a haze of drugs and fears in Ezra's mind. Looking at the pill bottles that sat half-full on the counter, Kanan's words came to the forefront of Ezra's mind.

 _Battles leave scars. Some you can't see._

Rex had been the one who saved him. Ezra had thrashed against what he thought was a restraining hold when he realized the wound hadn't gone deep enough. But over time, as he sat alone with the old veteran for hours on end, he came to understand it as the firmest, most loving embrace that he had ever felt. When Ezra couldn't bring himself to speak, Rex had talked of his own insecurities. The battles he'd lost. The men who had died under his watch. The fears that continued to dog him to that day. Eventually, Rex began to speak less and listen more as Ezra allowed himself to confront what had occurred in that cell, holding him again when the reflections wore him back down to tears and shaking.

More than anything, it was the shame that Ezra struggled with. Shame for not fighting hard enough before the Imperials had taken him. Shame for begging for pain to stop. Shame for endangering the lives of everyone who had come to rescue him, and the wounds the mission had caused. Shame for being selfish, inept, incompetent. _Weak_. When the gun had been placed to his head, he hadn't faced death with calm and reserve; he'd whimpered on the ground like a coward.

Ezra straightened, staring into his own eyes. They were clearer now, less affected by sedatives and tears. It had taken both Rex and Kanan to help him rebuild, convincing him that he had returned from captivity with honor. Even in his darkest moment, they explained, Ezra had subconsciously fought on - the silence Kanan had felt in their bond was the result of powerful shields Ezra had propped up as a final bulwark in his mind, hoping to hide himself from Kanan so as to not lure him into a trap. Over time, the amount of drugs Ezra took decreased as the length of his sessions with his mentors grew. Hopefully one day, he wouldn't need to take them to sleep at night.

The cold splash of water cleansed Ezra's face of the remaining shaving cream and focused his mind back in the present. His eyes wandered from the prosthetic, up his arm to his shoulder. It was the only part of his body unmarred by the blades; the Imperials hadn't wanted to damage his identification markings. A barcode, thick and thin lines of black ink, rose up from above a set of Aurebesh numerals denoting his prisoner number. Like the metal hand, Hera had assured him that it would be removed at the earliest opportunity, but tattoo removal services and synthskin experts rarely passed within parsecs of the Rebel base. Worse than any of the scars, the tattoo seemed like a brand in Ezra's skin, the definitive mark of Imperial ownership over his body and soul. Even the color pattern, black on Ezra's still-pale skin, was distinctly Imperial…

An idea flashed into Ezra's mind. It was wild, impulsive, the kind of idea that made the hair on his neck stand on end and his stomach turn in excitement. A wily grin spread across his face. It was a definitively _Ezra_ idea. He left the lavatory, dressing quickly and making his way from the _Ghost_ to the base's command bay. Seeing none of the senior leadership in the room - they certainly wouldn't approve - Ezra made his way to one of the junior officers studying the planning board. Noticing his approach, the young officer smiled in greeting.

"Good to see you outside the _Ghost_. What's on your mind?"

"Sir, are there any runs going out in the next few days?" The officer looked at a datapad, then back to Ezra, a half grin on his face.

"There's a supply run going to Nar Shaddaa, why do you ask?" Lieutenant Andor replied.

* * *

Standing outside Sabine's room, Ezra hesitated. The two had hardly spoke over the last couple of months, certainly nothing deeper than acknowledging each other's existence. When he first came out of the tank, Kanan and Hera had only told him that he'd lost his hands during the escape. As the weeks had gone on, Ezra thought Sabine was avoiding him because she was angry with him. Only after being pressed did Kanan divulge the details of how Ezra lost his hand. It killed him to think how she was shouldering the blame for his injury, something that had been taken completely out of her control.

 _What if she says no…_ Ezra's doubts continued to creep further into his mind. Ultimately, he forced them back down. _She needs this. We both do._ He gently tapped on the door.

"It's not locked," a quiet voice said from the other side of the door. Ezra thumbed the door control and stepped inside. To his surprise, no unfinished projects rested on the easel. The small shelf, typically covered in open paint jars and assorted pens, was barren. Sabine sat at the small table under her bunk, staring into a empty page on the sketchpad before her. She looked up from the blank paper, managing a weak smile. Ezra ignored the quick glance she made at his gloved hand. He had gotten into the habit of concealing the prosthetic, partly to limit the magnetic draw that it seemed to have on people's eyes.

"Hey," Sabine said softly.

"Hey." Ezra was suddenly at a loss for words. Running his good hand through the hair at the back of his head, he tried to piece together words to say. He wanted to say everything and nothing at the same time.

"Can I ask a favor?" Ezra finally managed. Sabine straightened, eyes visibly wider.

" _Anything._ " Ezra took the parcel he was carrying under his arm into his hands, extending it towards Sabine. Her wide eyes narrowed as she took it and read the shipping labels on the box, printed in bold Huttese.

"I have an idea, but I need your help with it," Ezra stated. Sabine looked at him, then back to the box. She opened it and peered into the box, eyes widening once more. Inside lay a set of dyes, each as vibrant as the walls of her room, and a pneumatic gun bristling with needles.

* * *

Hera knew that everyone would need to cope with the events of the mission in their own way. Part of that meant letting people have time alone. However, very early on she set one ground rule: everyone came to dinner at 1730. If anything, it was her one chance to keep accountability of all of them, but she longed for the joyous conversations that used to echo through the common room of the _Ghost._

Tonight, it was almost 1800, and only the five adults were in the room, all staring down the hallway towards the crew quarters. She had seen Ezra walk into Sabine's room, but that had been at 0900. Concern was becoming evident on Hera's face, as she looked to Kanan.

"Should I go check on them?"

"Might not be a good idea," Zeb snorted, masking worry with sarcasm. "Don't want to walk in on them working things out…" Kanan shot him a disapproving glance. Rex looked to the Jedi.

"Those two have hardly spoken since we got back. Can you tell what's going on?" Rex asked, keenly aware of the intuition the Jedis' bond might provide.

"Ezra's signature is… mixed. I sense pain, but not like we've been seeing in him," Kanan stated. The two had bonded deeper throughout the ordeal, brought together through a greater understanding provided as they had each opened up to Ezra about their pasts. _Maybe some good will come of this yet_ , Kanan thought.

A flutter of activity from the hallway caught everyone's attention. Ezra and Sabine's voices were heard, much louder than the hushed tones that had dominated the last months. The muffled sound of laughter made Hera's heart leap. Sabine's door slid open, and the two entered room, grins across their faces. Hera crossed her arms, but was unable to hide her own joy at seeing her two youngest smiling again.

"You two are late," Hera began, feigning a disciplinary tone. "This had better be good." Ezra looked at Sabine, who nodded. He rolled up the sleeve, and peeled away the gauze pad resting on his shoulder with his good hand. A shocked hush fell across the room, only punctuated by a soft _ooo-ah_ from Zeb. Rex and Rau leaned forward from their seats, eyes wide. Hera put a hand to her mouth, then leaned over to Kanan and began to whisper a description.

The redness and swelling still had yet to subside, but already the shapes were becoming clear. Small A-Wing and corvette silhouettes rocketed up Ezra's shoulder with the small outline of the _Ghost_ in the center, the dark lines of what had been a barcode now depicting the contrails of armada. They lanced upwards against the brilliant orange of the Starbird behind them, its pointed wings encircling them and guiding them higher. The blocky Aurebesh numerals now bent and contorted with new ink, transforming them into the thin, ancient lettering of Mandalorian.

The two teens looked expectantly around at their elders. A stunned silence had fallen across the entire room, holding for a long second. It finally shattered under the weight of Zeb's booming laughter.

"The kid has finally got some ink!" Zeb exclaimed. "We'll have to work to get you some arms that fit it." The quip drew an amused laugh from Kanan and Rex, as Ezra put on his best smolder and flexed his arm, cocking it pointedly at Sabine. She laughed and made a point to make a show of rolling her eyes, prompting a look of fake dejection from Ezra. As Rex and Zeb moved closer to examine the art, Hera watched as Sabine looked with a pensive smile towards Fenn Rau. A smile had grown across his features, and he nodded in silent approval. Hera saw Sabine's pensive smile grow into an elated one, and moved to stand next to the Protector.

"The _mando'a_ , I'm not familiar with the script. What does it say?" Hera asked. Continuing to smile, Rau turned to Hera.

"It reads _vercopa_ , the shortened form of _vercopaanir_ ," Rau said. Hera looked again to the tattoo, then back to the two Mandalorians.

"What does that translate to?" Hera pressed. Rau smiled and looked to Sabine. Pride and joy sparkled in the girl's moistening eyes.

" _Hope."_

 **Author's note: this arc has been an absolute pleasure to write, and I'm glad so many people enjoyed it. Again, I cannot thank Medly-arts enough for her inspiration and support in this endeavor. I tried to stay as respectful as possible regarding the subject matter, based on study, personal experience, and work I did in my previous piece "Names." Please continue to send your comments, as I'll continue to implement criticism and suggestions in _Growing Insurgency_ and the other projects I have planned. Thank you for your time and continued readership!**

 **All the best,**

 **JA**


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